Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Matthew ‘Tex’ Miller and Jordan ‘Jazz’ Bergeron settle in to their new life at Wild Bluff, but is their relationship as solid as they think, or will Jazz’s issues come back to bite them?

Tanner Parrish has a problem when he arrives at Wild Bluff, and only the team can help him solve the crisis. His twin sister, Suzanne, is in a world of trouble. She knows too much and her dirty boss at the FBI decides to get rid of her, but she’s resourceful and escapes, contacting Tanner via email. Honor and justice are more than just words to the men at Wild Bluff, they are a way of life. The Wild Bluff team decides to sacrifice everything to save Tanner’s sister, even giving up their location.

Once at the ranch, Suzanne reveals the reason her boss wanted her dead. Now the men at Wild Bluff are tasked with doing a job none of them ever wanted to do. Matthew is their best shot, but with the President of the United States in his sites, the pressure mounts. Deciding what is most important in his life, Matthew takes aim, knowing that his actions may change everything.

Writing is Sara's life. The stories fight to get out, often leaving her working on four or five books at once. She can't help but write. Along with her writing addiction she has a coffee addiction. Some nights, the only reason she stops writing and goes to sleep is for the fresh brewed coffee in the morning.Sara enjoys writing twisted tales of passion, anger, and love with a good healthy dose of lust thrown in for fun. Almost a quarter of a century ago Sara met her lover, falling for him after knowing him for ten minutes. Sara's passion for him comes out in her stories, mixing with her passion for life, love, and good times, flowing onto the page and becoming tales from the heart.

Falling in love with your boss's wife is never a good idea, especially when you're a mobster.

Mia Corrado can't remember the last time she had sex with her husband, Nicky. He's been preoccupied with his job as the head of New Jersey's most powerful crime family, and all of the wild oats he sows on the side.

When Nicky tells Mia he's too busy to attend her college reunion, and wants to send one of his underlings to accompany her, Mia is completely fed up.

Until she discovers it is Luka Russo who will be escorting her. He's handsome, charming and sensitive, definitely not the typical mobster.

Mia is completely captivated by him.

And Luka is just as smitten with Mia.

But if they act on their feelings for each other Luka may end up sleeping with the fishes.

What I think might be a quiet day turns out to be anything but. As soon as the boss enters our small office I can see he’s got something on his mind. The lines etched on his forehead are more prominent than usual and his lips are puckered.

That’s the way it works in this business. As the underboss I’m the one who makes all of the boss’s problems go away.

Nicky likes to keep his legitimate business, the Pizza King, separate from his not-so-legal business dealings, so the office we use for our mob activities is located in a strip mall between a nail salon and a copy shop. Our front is a real estate office, but we never actually have any listings or sell houses. But we do have a broker, who makes a nice salary for sitting out front and handling any walk-ins or phone calls.

Nicky takes a gulp of his black coffee before he turns his attention to me.

“There’s something I’d like for you to do.” He points a finger at me. “You’re the only person I can really trust.”

Good morning to you too. “Anything. You know you just have to ask.”

A few months ago someone tried to whack Nicky. Luckily the shooter botched the hit. We all thought the Philly-South Jersey crew was responsible, but we haven’t found any proof yet.

Maybe Nicky discovered something and he’s ready for retaliation.

“I’d like you to escort my wife to her college reunion.”

That’s completely out of left field. “What?”

“Her reunion,” he repeats a little louder, as if hearing him was the problem.

The problem is the request is ridiculous. As fond as I may be of Mia, babysitting his wife isn’t in my job description.

“Why can’t you accompany her?” I realize my question may come across as insubordination, which is definitely frowned upon in our line of work, but his request goes above and beyond my job requirements.

Break a guy’s legs; that’s something I can do in my sleep. Take his wife to some dance; I don’t think so.

“I don’t remember this being a democracy. I give the orders and you carry them out. That’s the way this thing of ours works.”

I blow out air hoping to make his request somehow magically disappear. No such luck. He’s looking at me with anticipation.

“When is her reunion?”

“Labor Day weekend.” He gives me a sly grin.

He’s been talking our ears off about going to Tampa for the holiday weekend to spend time with his new comare. Apparently she’s a hot young nurse and he’s crazy about her.

Even though it’s common for guys like us to have mistresses it’s not something I approve of. I’ve never been a believer in multitasking, especially with affairs of the heart.

I believe a man should cherish the woman he has at home, especially if she’s the mother of his children.

On this point I differ from nearly all of my friends. Most of the guys in our crew want to have their cannoli and eat them too.

“It’s the whole weekend?” I ask.

He nods. “Bookman is a small town. The hotel was sold out, but I was able to talk the owners into renting Mia one of their suites. It has a separate bedroom and you get the sleeper couch in the living room.”

I remember driving through Bookman once on my way to Old Town. I blinked twice and missed the place.

“Why do you need for me to go with her?”

“Because I said so. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Of course, but is there anything specific I should be doing while I’m there?”

He nods. “You need to make sure no one touches Mia. Capisce?”

“Do you really think that’s going to be a problem?” Not that I don’t think his wife is an attractive woman, but she seems to be devoted to Nicky.

The two of them were high school sweethearts. They’ve been together for years.

“I attended one of my high school reunions.” He holds up his index finger for emphasis. “I know what goes on. A lot of reconnecting with old flames. I don’t want any of those guys even thinking about reconnecting with Mia.”

“Got it, boss.”

“If anyone lays a hand on my wife, make sure he loses his hand. If anyone puts any other body parts where they don’t belong make sure he loses those too.”

He makes a point of staring at my crotch, as if I’d engage in any type of indiscretion with his wife. I value my job, and my body parts, too much.

“Anything else?”

“Have fun dancing to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.”

Author Bio

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison is known for writing new adult, love in midlife, and contemporary romance with a little spice and lots of heart. Dakota is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry. When she's not at her computer creating spicy stories Dakota likes to spend time with her husband and their bloodhounds. Dakota also writes under the

Jacqui Bishop’s dating life is dead in the water, but her professional prospects look outstanding. Promised a management position, she embarks on a team building course at a northern California winery. Shocked when her boss promotes a less qualified rival, Jac opts to chuck her job and revive the family farm.

Luscious Luke Rossi has been banished to Team Vino to learn how to be the team player his boss wants. Once there, he finds he’d rather play on Jac Bishop’s team. But a labor dispute and a boss who only wants a yes-man forces him to leave Jac’s side.

As the daytime exercises give way to nighttime passions, Jac learns there’s more to life than a nine-to-five existence. But resigning her job and moving to a farm hundreds of miles from Luke could spell doom for the couple. Their affair will require teamwork of a different kind.

For Jac, the looming question is whether her budding relationship with Luke will thrive or die on the vine.

Relief pulsed through her as Jules mentioned Luke had arrived. No offense to the insurance guys, but she was worn out with what little interaction she’d had with them. Jac paid scant attention to the conversation flowing around her as she sipped her wine. Nerves chased through her stomach at the idea of working for a week with Bella’s ideal of male perfection.

Footsteps echoed near the doorway to the dining area only an instant before the owner of them walked through.

She’d been instantly smitten with the man when Bella had introduced her to him last month. The attraction blossomed to life again. Luca Rossi was panty-dropping, ovary-exploding handsome. Bella’s nickname for him was well deserved. Luscious Luke, indeed. His short, dark brown hair curled and waved as if it had a mind of its own. Bright, inquisitive eyes didn’t seem to miss anything as he glanced around the room. His gaze slid past her, lighted on Jules, who remained standing next to her, then returned to Jac’s face.

A slow, sexy grin tugged the corners of his mouth. A faint shadow of stubble emphasized more than hid his square jaw. It was a strong face . . . perfect in the way it was put together.

Conversation around her faded into the background. Jac forgot to breathe for a second. A wave of dizziness swept over her. And, no, a lack of oxygen wasn’t the cause. Uh-uh, it had to be due to being this close to a living, breathing Roman god. Or because he continued to stare at her. He lifted a brow over gorgeous blue-green eyes and his smile broadened, allowing even white teeth to peek between full lips.

Author Bio

Gemma's favorite desk accessories for many years were a circular wooden token, better known as a 'round tuit,' and a slip of paper from a fortune cookie proclaiming her a lover of words; some day she'd write a book. All it took was a transfer to the United Kingdom, the lovely English springtime, and a huge dose of homesickness to write her first novel. Once it was completed and sent off with a kiss, even the rejections addressed to 'Dear Author' were gratifying.

After returning to America, she spent a number of years as a copywriter, dedicating her skills to making insurance and the agents who sell them sound sexy. Eventually, her full-time job as a writer interfered with her desire to be a writer full-time and she left the world of financial products behind to pursue a vocation as a romance author.

Welcome to Sutton Station: One of the world’s largest working farms in the middle of Australia – where if the animals and heat don’t kill you first, your heart just might.

Charlie Sutton runs Sutton Station the only way he knows how; the way his father did before him. Determined to keep his head down and his heart in check, Charlie swears the red dirt that surrounds him – isolates him – runs through his veins.

American agronomy student Travis Craig arrives at Sutton Station to see how farmers make a living from one of the harshest environments on earth. But it’s not the barren, brutal and totally beautiful landscapes that capture him so completely.

It’s the man with the red dirt heart.

RED DIRT HEART EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Where the American guy walks in, all blue eyes and disarming smiles, and my life goes to shit.

Just on sundown, I got off the motorbike, kicked the stand down so the bike stood upright without me and closed the gate. I’d been out all day in the South paddocks doing a final check of fences and water trough pumps before we bought the cattle down from the North. I’d seen the ute back at the homestead as I came in so I knew George was home.

George was my leading hand. He was in his fifties, with greying hair and sun-hardened skin. He’d worked here for as long I could remember, but he was more than a loyal employee. He was my friend, and in a lot of ways, more of a dad to me than my own old man ever was.

He’d been out all day, left before sun-up and headed into Alice Springs. We were a good three hours from the nearest town, and with a list as long as his arm from the Station cook, Ma—who also happened to be his wife—he needed a few hours in town before heading out to the airport to pick up the real reason for his trip: an American agronomy student by the name of Travis Craig.

When my father ran this farm, or station as we called it, every year we’d have people from another country come and spend a couple of weeks as part of some Diversification exchange program. My old man always said it was a good way to source out what other countries were teaching, but really I think he just liked the extra pair of hands at the finish of the dry season. And when we’d had a phone call back in July to ask if we’d be interested in hosting another student, and given it’d been a few years, I thought it seemed like a good idea. Now I couldn’t help but wonder if this Travis Craig would be a help or a liability.

I rode the bike into the yard and pulled up in the shed. I figured they’d know I’d arrived, having heard the bike, so I headed straight for the house. Like most homesteads built almost a hundred years ago, it was a weatherboard home, with an old iron roof and a veranda around four sides to try and keep it cool.

I kicked the red dust from my boots on the veranda steps and tried to brush the same from my jeans, took off my hat before I opened the door and walked inside. There was a suitcase and a duffel bag near the front door and voices at the back of the house.

“In the kitchen,” George called out.

I followed the sound of chatter and the smell of something good to find a meeting of sorts in the old country-style kitchen. The worn, solid wooden table that graced the middle of the room was covered with plates of scones and trays of cups and tea, and three people were in chairs around it—my right-hand man, George, his wife the cook, Ma, and a stranger with short light-brown hair and pale blue eyes.

George was the first to his feet, and the man beside him soon followed. “Here’s the boss, Charles Sutton,” George said, introducing me formally. “Charlie, this is Travis Craig.”

Travis looked about twenty-two years old, not much younger than me. Whereas I was a stockier build, with dull brown hair and boring brown eyes, he was taller than me by a few inches and muscular and lean. He held out his hand and smiled. “Mr Sutton. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His accent was strange to hear at first, but his smile was warm and wide.

I wiped my hand on my shirt and held it out for him to shake. “Travis,” I said with a nod. “Please, call me Charlie.”

He seemed nervous or uncertain, so I figured I’d take the emphasis off him. I threw my dusty old hat onto the table and sat down across from our guest. “Jeez, Ma,” I said, looking at the food on the table. “How many are you feeding?”

“I made ’em for you. They’re your favourite,” she said.

“Are they pumpkin scones?” I asked.

“’Course,” she said proudly. “You boys can finish them for dessert.”

I reached out to grab one, and Ma’s hand came out to stop me. “Not with those dirty hands, Mister. And you can get your hat off my table.”

George chuckled at me, and I looked at Travis and grinned. “I can’t win.”

Ma stood up. “Go and show Travis which room is his, then you can clean yourself up for dinner,” she said to me. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Forty minutes, boys.”

I pushed my chair out from the table, and taking his cue, Travis did the same. I got to the door and seeing Ma had her back turned, I quickly grabbed a buttered scone off the table.

“Charles Sutton!” Ma cried, catching me red-handed.

I smiled as I shoved the scone in my mouth, but I was quick to duck around the door, out of the flight path of any kitchen utensils Ma might launch at me. Normally she just threatened me with a ladle or tea towel, but over the years—especially when I was a teenager—if I came in and started picking while she was cooking, I’d have to duck the odd cooking implement.

I laughed down the hallway, and Travis was just a step behind me. He smiled right back at me, and I had to chew and swallow my mouthful of food before I could speak. “I’ll show you to your room,” I told him. I put my hat on the middle hook, as always, picked up his suitcase and left the duffel bag for him. “You’ll stay in the main house while you’re here. There’s three worker’s cottages, but they’re taken. You’ll meet the other guys at dinner.”

I led him through a door off the foyer to a door halfway down the hall. “Your room,” I said, walking in and putting his suitcase on the queen-size bed. There was a dresser and a wardrobe, and the window was open, but the curtain was still. “Your room faces east. You’ll get the early morning sun, not the heat of the afternoon.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” Travis said. His accent was softened along with his tone.

“Thank you,” I said with smile. It is a beautiful house. The homestead itself was built in the nineteen twenties, had wooden floors and nine-foot ceilings. “It’s old and takes a lot of upkeep these days, but she’s been well looked after.”

“They don’t make big old houses like these anymore,” he said. “Even back home, old traditional ranch houses are few and far between.”

“Where exactly is back home?” I asked. “Texas, yeah?”

Travis put his duffel bag on the bed. “Yes, sir. Johnson City is just west of Austin. My family has a ranch there.”

“Cattle, yes?”

“Yes, sir. Brahman.”

“Please don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry. It’s a habit my momma drilled into me.”

“It’s okay,” I said reassuringly. “I just look for my father when I hear that word.”

Travis nodded but looked down to his luggage on the bed. He was a few inches taller than my five foot ten, and a fairly decent build, wore a checkered shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, American jeans and fancy cowboy boots. But what I noticed most was when he looked downward like that I could see the outline of the back of his neck. It was tanned, muscular with short, clipped hair that looked as though it’d be real soft to touch…

“I’m sorry,” he said, snapping me out my wayward thoughts. “I guess I was expecting the boss to be a lot older…”

I studied him for a long moment. “Is that a problem?”

His head shot up and his eyes were wide. “Oh no, not at all,” he said quickly. “It’s just my father mentioned a man named Charles was about his age, not mine…”

“Charles was my father,” I told him. “And his father before that and probably the one before that.”

He nodded and looked back down to his belongings on the bed. “Mine is a family name too.”

He was obviously a little uncomfortable with my being there, so I figured I’d leave him be and let him settle in. I walked to the door and said, “I’ll leave you to it. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall to your left. My room’s the first door near the foyer on your right.” I wasn’t exactly sure why I said that, so I added, “If you need anything, that is. And George and Ma live in this house too, in the bedroom off the back sunroom, but they’re quiet as mice. You won’t hear a peep from them until breakfast time.”

Travis smiled at me then. “Thanks.”

“I guess I should tell you the rules of the house,” I said, figuring it was probably best to get all the formalities out of the way.

“Rules?”

“Yep, rules. Breakfast is at six on the dot. If we’re in and around the yard, lunch is twelve noon. If we’re out during the day, Ma will usually pack us some lunch or drive something out to us or we’ll pack it and take it with us. Dinner is six sharp—” I looked at my watch. “—which is in twenty minutes, so I’d better let you freshen up. Oh, and just a reminder that Sutton Station is dry; there is no alcohol here. The crew of workers usually head to the Alice every second weekend to let loose, but there’s no drinking here.”

“The Alice?”

“Alice Springs,” I explained. “Locals call it the Alice. Dunno why.”

Travis nodded again, almost smiling. “Okay.”

“And the boys’ll probably wanna give you a hard time, you know, as the greenhorn, but they won’t mean anything by it,” I said with a smile. “They’re a good bunch. But you’ll be with me to start off with so they won’t be game to try nothing.”

“Thanks,” he said with half a smile.

“Like I said, you’ll meet them at dinner,” I told him. “We eat in the main house. Most big stations will have different quarters for workers to eat, but there’s only six full-time staff…well,” I corrected, “seven including you, so we just use this house. And they’re all scared of Ma. She has rules at the table and they respect them.”

“More rules?”

I grinned at him. “Be on time, be clean, be grateful. Wear a shirt and shoes, and never wear your hat at the table.”

Travis chuckled, a deep throaty sound. “Sounds just like my momma.”

I found myself smiling back at him. “Could she throw a rolling pin at your head?”

“From about thirty yards,” Travis said with a grin. “But when you make it out of the kitchen without bein’ caught, you know the worst part?”

We both spoke at the same time. “You gotta come home sometime.”

We both laughed, and he seemed a lot more comfortable when I left him to unpack. I cleaned up first, washed my hands and face and even brushed my hair, then went back to the kitchen. I kissed Ma on the cheek so she’d forgive me for stealing a scone earlier and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

“He seems like a real nice fella,” Ma said.

“He does.”

“Think he’ll last?”

I shrugged. “He’s from a farm back home, so who knows…” I took a mouthful of water. “I hope he does.”

Ma smiled into the pot on the stove. “He’s kinda cute.”

“Ma,” I warned. “Please don’t.”

“Just stating a fact, sweetheart,” she said. Then she held out her hand. “Pass me the pepper.”

And the conversation on how cute Travis was, was thankfully over. I had to work with the man for the next four weeks. He was a guest in my house, and I was responsible for his welfare. The last thing I needed was to start thinking of him in that way.

Ten minutes later, he walked into the kitchen, showered, looking all bright-eyed and fresh, dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, smelling all clean and of a deodorant I didn’t recognize. I turned back to the sink, trying to ignore thoughts that weren’t rightfully pure.

Fuck.

N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance.

She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

She is many things: a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things… but likes it even more when they fall in love.

She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.